


Engraved Invitation

by oh_johnny



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 00:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4766174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_johnny/pseuds/oh_johnny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John has a conversation with a misbehaving portion of his anatomy</p>
            </blockquote>





	Engraved Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of an old fic from the lj Beatlesslash comm.

As the girl tearfully closed the door behind her, John flopped back on the bed.

Shit.

He was a man obsessed.

And not in a good way.

He’d have to do something about this. When he couldn’t get it up for the girlies who came through his room there was something seriously wrong with him.

He looked down at his dick, just lying there, useless, and swore, “Who gave you the night off, then?”

It was all Paul’s fault, the fucker.

Not that he hadn’t enjoyed it but…

Fuck.

Okay. Let’s think about this for a bit. Analyze the situation. Figure out a plan of action. 

Paul had kissed him. Okay. So. 

Why?

Well, the concert had been brilliant. The adrenaline was running high. Paul, randy bugger that he was, always came off stage with a hard on anyway. They’d been alone in their dressing room. It just kind of _happened_. One minute they were hugging triumphantly, the next they had their tongues down each other’s throats and were trying to climb into each other’s skin.

God.

He got hard just thinking about it. 

He glared at his dick for a minute, “Oh. Sure. _Now_ you show up for duty. Where were you when I needed you just now, then, eh? Developing a mind of your own. All I bloody need.”

Okay. So. Paul gets him hard and the girlies don’t.

Well, won’t this make headlines around the whole fucking world.

The kiss _had_ been fucking amazing. All hot and sweaty and he could feel Paul’s dick hard against him (“His doesn’t need a bloody engraved invitation,” he muttered in a southerly direction) and when a knock had come at the door they’d sprung apart like they’d been hit by lightning.

Maybe they had.

He’d gone to fix his hair in the mirror and seen the same look in his eyes as he’d seen in Paul’s.

Fear.

And he didn’t really know what he was afraid of.

Paul, he figured, had a lot of things to be afraid of, the most likely of which was that John would rip his fucking head off.

But John didn’t fear Paul like that. No, he was afraid because…well…because he’d liked it.

So he’d grabbed the first bird he’d found and brought her to the hotel with him determined to salvage his manhood with a good old-fashioned screw.

Yeah.

Except she’d smelled of flowers not sweat. When he brushed his hand across her face he’d felt soft down not stubble. And when he’d pulled her hard against him her body had yielded not pushed back.

An hour ago he’d have said that those were all good things.

Apparently his dick thought otherwise. 

There was a knock at the door.

“Busy,” he called. Yeah. Busy trying to get his dick to behave.

“Johnny?” came the voice from the other side of the door, “Johnny, let me in.”

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckityfuckfuck.

He _really_ didn’t want to open the door. He _really_ didn’t want to see Paul. He grimaced at his dick, which was now bobbing along happily, all ready to spend more time rubbing up against Paul.

“And you can just behave and all,” he said.

“What?” called Paul, “What was that? I can’t hear you, John. Open the damn door.”

Shit. Well, might as well get it over with. Had to face him sometime. Right? I mean, they did stand at opposite ends of the stage so he didn’t _really_ have to ever look at Paul again. And they were doing amazing things in recording studios these days so maybe they didn’t have to be there at the same time. And they could always write over the phone. Take separate planes on tours. Separate cars.

Separate damn dressing rooms for a start.

“Wait,” he called to Paul, “just let me get some clothes on.”

Clothes. Yeah. Good idea. Except jeans were out – no way he’d get them done up the way his dick was waving around in the air. Pyjamas? God no. That handy little slit at the front wouldn’t be such a good thing right now. A towel? Well, it would come off easily enough.

No no no. Stop thinking that way. Maybe if he hit it with something his dick would start to cooperate. Finally, he pulled on a pair of sweat pants, muttering at his dick to behave, dammit, or it would be a long time before it saw the light of day again.

Then he opened the door and let Paul into the room.

“Johnny, you okay?”

“Yeah. Fine. Dandy in fact. Why do you ask?”

“Well, that bird you brought up just left bawling her eyes out. What did you do to her?”

“Nothing. That’s the problem. Nothing at all.”

“You mean…”

Yeah. _Somebody_ ,” he growled, “didn’t want to play.”

“Oh. Oh! Oh well, looks like that’s not a problem any more.”

John turned a most becoming shade of red as he looked down and saw the tent in his trousers.

“Separate fucking hotels, too,” he muttered.

“John?”

“Nothing. Just…shit. My dick won’t behave. Apparently…”

“Yes?”

“Apparently…it only wants to be with you.”

Paul looked at him in surprise for a moment, then a slow smile spread across his face. He advanced on John, who, much as he wanted to cut and run, decided to stand his ground and see what happened. Cyn had always claimed he was led around by his dick anyway.

And when Paul finally reached him and kissed him, he knew this was exactly the right thing to do.


End file.
